Spring Along the Trail

We were charmed by a few California Sisters today that were determined to perch on people, reminding me of a summertime experience I had before moving to the Bay Area. If I would pause at my back door upon coming home from work, a friendly Red Admiral would circle in and land on me, often atop my head. I could feel strands of hair moving as it explored. I'd wait patiently, sometimes for several minutes, before it would flutter away. As the season wore on, it lost bits of its wings (to predators, I assumed), until it came no more.

Accompanied by docents, most of the group was focused on spotting spring flowers, but there was no overlooking the butterflies.

Not to mention the occasional vista!

One docent was on the lookout for a particular plant (Broad-leaved stonecrop), and knew just where we'd find it. I loved the mix of colors!

Our hike was short (3 miles), but filled with spring blooms. Get 'em while they last ... summer is approaching.

An Old Favorite

Once upon a time, long before I'd joined any bike clubs, pedaling up Alma Bridge and Aldercroft Heights roads to Old Santa Cruz Highway was a regular route. (As a stoker on a tandem, back then.) The first club I joined would often start rides at the Lexington Reservoir; we'd park atop the dam (legal, back then). The second club I joined preferred to meet south of the reservoir, on the road leading to the Lexington Elementary School. Heading out from there reduced the overall distance and climbing involved (which, I didn't mind).

After a couple of rounds of winter storms in recent years, sections of those roads were closed. Early accounts of passing through sounded sketchy: I didn't try. [Until today.]

When I started up the first incline, my legs rebelled. I know I haven't been doing much climbing lately, but this old favorite shouldn't be this hard! [And that's why I'm here.]

The work isn't finished, but the section I traversed was fine.

I wasn't looking forward to returning the way I came, having less-than-fond memories of a short-but-steep climb approaching the rowing club. I spied a new (to me) bench overlooking the water, which I decided was my reward for making it up that pitch.

Relaxing with my snack, I watched a bald eagle soar overhead—second reward!

A tidy 1,700 feet of climbing spread over some 16 miles—a scenic and efficient workout. I'll be back!

Be Cool

Expecting warm weather, three friends agreed to join me for a hike in the forest today. It's not an easy hike—there are hills to climb (and descend)—but it's well-shaded.

Having no post-hike commitments, I decided to do a little more exploring (albeit, exposed to the sun).

Private estates were once built on this land, later acquired for the establishment of a religious institution (Alma College), and more recently for a nature preserve (Bear Creek Redwoods).

I wandered through what remains (and is accessible), trying to imagine the site in its heyday. The former carriage house is now a habitat for bats, which seemed a worthy use for it.

My additional trekking, added to the usual loop, amounted to more than six miles (and about 1,000 feet of elevation gain). The vibe around the college site felt decidedly creepy—most likely because I was the only person around. Worth it, though, to satisfy my curiosity.

Two Too Close

I nearly died today.

It was my second close call in a week. The first incident, a few days ago, happened when I committed the sin of cycling near a school as parents were picking up their children. [No school buses?! Don't ask.] You might think parents would be extra careful around all those children. [They're not.]

When Minivan Mama evidently finished chatting with another mom across the street, she suddenly and sharply pulled away from the curb. Without looking. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

Even though I was being cautious, moving slowly, I still had to panic-stop.

Her son waved happily through the window to his friend, and off they went—utterly oblivious to the accident narrowly averted.

I would have been injured, perhaps seriously, colliding with that minivan. Today's incident was much, much worse.

Today I'd decided to get some climbing in; having completed the first hill, I came to a stop at a T intersection where I would turn left. I unclipped and waited astride my bicycle, having heard a vehicle approaching from the right. A white Tesla waited behind me.

The vehicle I'd heard was some deep shade of red; burgundy, perhaps. A small SUV or crossover, perhaps. Driven by a woman with longish dark hair, perhaps. That much registered in my brain.

She was turning onto the road where I stood, cutting the corner at speed—completely on the wrong side of the double yellow line, into my lane. Hurtling straight at me. I'm pretty sure my mouth hung open; my expression was likely one of disbelief rather than terror. This is it, I thought. I'm going to die now.

Here I am, though, telling the tale.

Brakes screeched. The lanes flare out at the intersection, the corners rounded for cars turning right. Mindful of drivers seeking to turn right, I was positioned far enough to the left, and the Tesla just far enough behind, that the reckless driver managed to thread the needle to the left of me and to the right of the Tesla. And simply continued on her way.

Flowers, Frogs, and Fish

Riding on my own, I've fallen into an all-too-comfortable pattern—cruising through quiet residential neighborhoods with wide streets. But, honestly, there are more scenic routes that also have little vehicular traffic (on weekdays).

Just look at the Almaden Reservoir, framed with lovely lupine!

At the water's edge, I was puzzled by a noise I'd never heard before. I figured it had to be a frog, but it sounded more like moaning than croaking. When a fisherman wandered by, he confirmed that the frogs hang out in the reeds along the shoreline. (Cleverly concealed.)

I decided to venture out onto the dam for another perspective (on foot, though I hefted my bike across the vehicle-blocking boulders to keep it close). In the past, I've focused on admiring the water; today, I turned to the side and spotted the giant chimney in Quicksilver Park, a relic of New Almaden's cinnabar-mining and mercury-production days.

Fishing here is strictly a catch-and-release sport—too much mercury contamination. I don't get the attraction of catch-and-release, but I suppose the fisherman doesn't get the attraction of biking out here just to turn around and bike back home (32 miles round-trip, about 900 feet of climbing).

To each his (or her!) own.

Fluff

Normally I avoid biking on trails; today's route with some friends included a stretch of the Los Gatos Creek Trail that I've rarely used.

What was going on with these trees? I doubled back later, not wanting my curiosity to interfere with our group's plans.

Fluffy white stuff drifting all around us; not snowflakes (of course), not bits of dust on the lens of my camera ...

Puffy balls hanging all over the tree ... could these be cottonwood trees? [Duh!]

I took note of another oddity that caught my eye, and managed to find it when I returned: white California poppies (a cultivar, as it turned out).

A social ride with a little extra exploring, 36 miles with about 1,000 feet of elevation gain along the way. No better way to spend a sunny spring day!

May Day Flowers

A docent-led hike, focused on wildflowers? Count me in!

First new fact: The pond is here because the water table is high at this spot. We were following the familiar Zinfandel trail at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, pausing only briefly to admire the pond and convince ourselves that the duck we saw at the far side was a female mallard.

While I recognized many of the flowers we found, the wind poppy was new to me (and, evidently, fairly uncommon).

Many flowers rely on pollinators—like this variable checkerspot butterfly visiting our native golden yarrow.

Having hiked this (wooded) trail in other seasons, I was honestly surprised to discover as many flowers as we did. Red larkspur and white globe lilies, columbine and smooth mule's ears, Fernald's iris and bluewitch nightshade, orange bush monkeyflower and blue-eyed grass (of course), and so much more.

A leisurely 4.4 mile walk, for the love of flowers.